


I Won't Feel a Thing

by Dumbothepatronus



Series: Nothing Here to See [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bonus Chapter, Companion Piece, Dear John Letter, Draco pov, F/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Break Up, Unrequited Love, azakban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumbothepatronus/pseuds/Dumbothepatronus
Summary: From the depths of his cell in Azkaban, Draco tries to forget the girl who is haunting his memories.Companion piece to my longer work, "Nothing Here to See." (But you don't need to read it to read this.)





	I Won't Feel a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter.

Draco sat on the edge of the hard slab of wood, the standard-issue bed that was the only semblance of furniture in the cold concrete cube of his Azkaban cell. Despite the echoes of sorrow that seemed to be permanently etched into the very floors of the prison by the Dementors that once guarded it, before their fall from grace—despite the gloomy fog of loneliness the near-constant isolation had descended upon him—the tremor in his hand had nothing to do with his deplorable living conditions.

No, this was borne of a different sorrow. 

Draco ran his thumbs over a piece of parchment, worn to the point of being pliant and ragged, more like cloth than paper. He chastised his own weakness in pulling it out from the small box of belongings England’s best lawyer had campaigned all prisoners to be allowed to keep in their cells. How was he ever going to forget when she was all he could think about?

He glanced down at the letter in his hand, running his fingers over the words as if to read them, but it wasn’t necessary—he already had it memorized.

_Dear Draco,_

_I’m so sorry to have to be writing you this letter, but I can’t in good conscience continue on without being completely honest with you._

_The truth is, I don’t love you anymore, at least not in a romantic sense. I imagine I will always love you as a friend, and I will always be here to talk to you and write to you. But I can’t continue on with our long-distance non-relationship any longer._

_I’m going to be candid, because I believe you deserve the truth. There’s someone new in my life. His name is Josh and I think that we could be something. He listens to me and cares about me and is a good friend._

_I’m so sorry. Hate me if you need to. I probably would.  
Hermione_

 

Curse Dumbledore. Curse all his meddling ways. He never should have gone to him, when Voldemort branded his evil mark into his flesh and sent him on that fateful suicide mission. He should have found another way. Now Dumbledore was dead, and with him his valuable witness of Draco’s espionage efforts during the war. 

It was just about the most unfair thing Draco could think of. Well, besides the fact that—

No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He couldn’t think about that. The more often he recalled the fire in Hermione’s eyes when she spotted him across the Great Hall when the battle had ended—the feelings of elation and relief to see her alive, unharmed, and finally unencumbered—well, the more he thought about it, the more his efforts to scrub it from his mind would be completely fruitless. 

And scrub it from his mind he should, because it was all over now. The angry retort he had sent to her through Azkaban’s overly-thorough screening process had surely destroyed any hope of reconciliation with the curly-haired witch that haunted his dreams. 

Draco let out an aggravated growl and stood from his cot. He really should rip the thing to pieces, along with the other seven letters she had managed to write to him before her sudden betrayal. If he’d been allowed his wand, he surely would have set fire to them all weeks ago. 

But as he pinched his thumbs and forefingers together on the edge of the page, poised to tear, he found he couldn’t do it. Her eyes flashed through his mind; the light of her laughter whenever he’d said something particularly clever during their stolen moments in the hidden spots of Hogwarts. Her sweet hesitation; her denial of her own desires for fear that their tender relationship would be torn apart by the looming war.

Well, she’d been right, hadn’t she? Hadn’t the Aurors ripped them apart in the battle-torn castle, moments before he’d swept her into his arms and finally claimed the kiss he’d been thirsting after for over a year?

He dropped the letter onto his bed and scrubbed his hands over his face. No. He couldn't think about that, either. Every time he remembered the way she’d crumpled to the floor as they’d dragged him away; every time he imagined how her lips would have tasted if he’d only been a minute sooner, the pain threatened to suffocate him. 

And most of all, he couldn’t think about what she might be doing now; who might be holding her in his stead. After all, wasn’t this what he had asked her to do? To move on with her life, to find someone who could give her the companionship he couldn’t?

A new image; the image of her wrapped in the embrace of a nameless stranger; of her mouth reaching out to find someone else’s lips seared painfully through his mind. He sunk to the cold concrete floor and rested his head on his knees. 

He couldn’t scrub her memory from his mind. She was too ingrained there, under his skin, where his blood and magic met. He could feel her there, the imprint of her hand held tightly in his, of her tears against his thumbs as he wiped them from her cheeks. And he didn’t know how to rid himself of that.

He shoved the crinkled letter back into the cardboard box under his bed and settled in for a fitful night’s sleep full of stolen moments and not-so-forgotten memories. With the dawn came a new realization—he was never going to be able to forget her. He’d been working the wrong angle all along.

Because Slytherins didn’t forget. Oh, no—Slytherins didn’t shove their dreams into a box and tuck it away when the stars they had been seeking seemed too out of reach. Slytherins spoke to their friend-of-a-friend who happened to have connections with the man in the moon. Slytherins found the exact bargaining chip that would get them there. Slytherins—

Draco rose from his cot and began pacing the tiny cell with measured steps. One—two—three—four—five, pivot, one—two—three—four—five. The control he exerted over his feet, the exactness of each step, rekindled his confidence in his ability to control his future. Step by step, turn by turn, a plan began to form. 

He wouldn’t be in here forever; one day he would be free to follow her to the ends of the earth if it was required. He would forget his anger, forget his unproductive melodrama, and when he got out, he would come for her. Slowly, patiently, he would snake his way back into her life until she remembered exactly why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. 

He turned to the wall where a neat row of tallies marked each day of his imprisonment. He didn’t have to count them to know there were exactly one-hundred and twenty. Only 225 tallies from now, he would stand in an appeals court and have the chance to contest his guilty verdict. All he had to do now was wait and scheme. This “Josh” interloper wasn’t going to know what hit him, because he was surely no match for the great Draco Malfoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta readers, Bex and Chandlure Trainez.
> 
> If you would like to read more of this concept, check out my longer story, "Nothing Here to See."


End file.
